Ice Queen

II. beginnings

As the majority of literature does, I'll start from the beginning.
May 19th.
My parents were young. Both 24, to be exact. From what I've been told and from what I can assume, they were your typical whirlwind love affair that young people get caught up in.
Nothing unusual, just perhaps what many people are not accustomed to.
As for their parenting skill...
Imagine this.
You have just begun working at a computer engineering job. You have read about complex programming, and it seemed interesting and challenging enough.
After only a month of your job as an amateur, you are given a project that will determine the rest of your entire career. It's an expert level job, one requiring extensive preparation and skill.
You, of course, make many mistakes, and have to make some rash judgements in order to try and complete this task. But you do get it done, eventually.
You obviously don't do it perfectly, and it turns out somewhat flawed.
Now, take this scenario and apply it to a parenting situation.
That is the "sob story" of my youth. I'm not a psychopath (despite what others may say behind my back), I know how to talk and hold a fork. The only unusual part of my childhood was that my parents didn't exactly know how to raise me. No parents know how to do it immediately, but mine expected me to act at a certain level of maturity rather quickly. Which, in the end, was not the worst thing that could've happened to me.
They didn't abuse me, or lock me in the dark.
I was expected to be a calm Erudite brainchild. Which, of course, I was. I didn't act out, and my parents soon realized that I was above the children in terms of intelligence at my daycare. I learned to read at age 4, words were something I grasped as soon as I could.
But when something shows any sign of higher performance than its counterparts, you do expect it to continue working at that same level. The same went for me and my giftedness.
I didn't understand why the other kids got to read only a few books before playing outside, when I had to finish the book I was reading and then tell my parents every detail I remembered. Or why I had to take these special tests every month (IQ tests that predicted that I would reach the exact level I am currently at). I was confused, but my parents were fascinated. The rest of my early training is history.
It would be hypocritical of me to criticize my mother and father for treating me like an experiment. I treat people like experiments constantly, so really, I'm no better than them.
Their love for me was mixed with curiosity and scientific pursuit.
I'm not the first Erudite child to be brought up this way, and not the last, so don't weep for me. I'm truly fine, and if I'm honest, I'm not sure I would've wanted an upbringing in which I was smothered in affection.
Though, a hug now and then may have been better than another book being shoved at me.
(I do love books, don't make any harsh judgements about my childish desire for parental assurance and love.)
Anyway. I have a tendency to go on about things that really don't need so much detail, though this is already very clear.
Onto my background.
I grew up in the Erudite upper class. My father was an astronomist, my mother was a psychologist and a sociologist. I was, without a doubt, privileged, and I knew that. I had pretty dresses, nice blankets. Nice stuffed animals that I no doubt held onto for far too long, given that my parents saw no reason to take them away (I relinquished custody of my last stuffed animal at age 12).
I was completely set when it came to material possessions. Of course, anyone knows that material objects aren't the ultimate human purpose. Relationships with others are among the most important things a person should have.
And I realized that quickly.
My parents had each other, and I even reasoned that my books had people with other people they needed in them.
So why didn't I?
I was very lonely, it became clear. It's rather hard to make friends when everyone functions at their age and you are well above them. I don't think I told my parents that I sat alone all the time, for fear of getting another test to see if I was antisocial. Though, I'm sure they realized as they spoke to other parents.
I didn't have play dates. My social life then meant sitting with my parents while they talked about big words that I longed to understand. That was how it always was. My parents were well respected; social upkeep meant having a dinner party almost every other week.
I recall being put in an itchy dress too many times and forced to sit still for way too long. No matter how well behaved, you can't make a five year old sit still for more than fifteen minutes. My parents did find it tiring when I started getting restless and started complaining.
After far too much time, they realized a very obvious solution.
I needed a friend to occupy me.
And thankfully, there were other young parents among the guests in attendance.
You can no doubt imagine my pleasure when I was told I would have a friend to play with during the extensive talks my parents would have with their friends. In fact, I find I can remember the night I met my friend quite vividly, even if it was so long ago.
Five year old Jeanine runs downstairs and nearly falls when she can't stop herself fast enough, and there he is.
A small boy, smaller than she was, looking shy and scared to death of this energized girl.
Grey eyes widened, and a hand was outstretched.
I remember saying something like, "Well, come on already." before I dragged him up to my room and showed him my huge book collection. Out of fear and a push from his parents, he came with me.
He was now my experiment.
Andrew Prior, the short five year old with curly hair, was the only thing little Jeanine would ever need.
Now enthralled by the best toy I'd ever received, I realized that you're not supposed to do certain things to another human being.
At one point, I believe there was even a list of "Do Nots". On paper. On the fridge. I remember being forced to memorize it.
You don't push someone over just to see if they'd cry.
You don't cut your friend's hair. Or your own hair.
You don't make your friends play the peasant while you play the queen just so you can make them do your chores.
These are only a few examples. I was rather adventurous. If you've ever seen a cat threatening to push something off of a table, that was me. Getting myself in trouble just to see what my boundaries were.
A world of disobedience and curiosity opened up in front of me. I could learn so much more by having a friend.
It wouldn't surprise me to find out that he was secretly terrified of me for his whole childhood. I don't deny that I was, and still am, an intense person. He learned to like me, even if that wasn't his initial instinct. I would make him like me, as at the time, that seemed to be my divine purpose.
He broke out of his pattern of shy behavior as he grew up, and we started to take on the world together.
Everything was a competition. Who could read the big book the fastest. Who could count to 100 the fastest. Who could run down the stairs the fastest without breaking their nose (the past part was a requirement added due to a previous occurrence).
I took pride in winning most of our little feuds.
If I were to go on explaining every argument we'd ever had, I could write more than Tolstoy ever did.
The point is, we were competitive, but we were also closer than I've ever been to another person, even almost 4 decades later.
Even though our relationship is farther apart than it could ever be as of now.
That is a story for later.
Moving on.
Andrew was not the only part of my childhood that was significant, though he was a big part of it.
In my third year of school, my teachers decided that there was no way I could stay at my age level. Simply put, I was bored out of my mind. I would swipe more interesting books from the library and read them while everyone learned something that I'd understood ages ago.
Addition was boring. Multiplication? Much better.
Much to my horror, I was torn from Andrew and placed in a class of students a full year older than me.
Age isn't such a big deal as an adult, but when you're 6 and everyone else is 7, the world is a terrifying place.
I was much smaller than everyone else. I had been taller than every girl in my previous class- now, all of the girls were taller, and the boys were catching up in height. I didn't even try and speak to the bigger children, I just remained silent and did my work. They stared at the tiny child that was me and decided to keep their distance, as I wasn't interesting enough to be the prey of their teasing.
My saving grace was the schedule of recess- thankfully, third and fourth year students were let out at the same time. I had one or two friends amongst the fourth years, but in the end, I always went back to Andrew (Which, you will find out later was a common pattern in my life).
Academically, I greatly excelled. I caught onto things quickly, and made the other kids jealous of me.
I never had any horrible illness, which I'm rather thankful for. The worst thing I got was the flu and strep throat.
I did, however, accumulate injuries.
Balance was not my strong suit, and no one could ever figure out why. There was nothing physically wrong, so they decided perhaps I just had other things on my mind than remaining upright.
My list of injuries goes on for quite a while.
I fell down the stairs at 7, much to Andrew's shock and horror. I've never seen someone look quite so terrified of a situation. But the injuries didn't stop there, and there was much to come.
I was the queen of paper cuts. I was usually found frowning at my finger after picking up another piece of paper wrong.
I tripped so much that I didn't even flinch when I did, I just got up and kept walking, even if I needed a bandage. Which scared people, they thought perhaps I was one of those children that felt no pain at all. Like some kind of budding sociopath.
Thankfully, my balance is much better at the present. I'm not sure when I grew out of it, but I'm quite grateful that I did.
All in all, I do believe I had a pleasurable childhood, aside from maybe losing some of the free time I could've had while studying instead. It benefited me in the long run.
I do admit that my parents made many mistakes, but in the end, I am as normal as I can be. I was raised to be an obedient child with high standards and expectations for my own life.
The real challenge came when I turned 12, and quickly realized that no longer was I a young child.
I was becoming a young adult who had to make decisions for herself.
And that was perhaps the biggest surprise of my life.